


Gunshots

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras' inner monologue that morning at the barricade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunshots

In that moment, Enjolras knew. 

The shuddered breaths shared between the four of them as they stood silently above the Guard, arms wrapped around each other in some desperate plea to keep one another alive and okay, to keep their lives intact was enough to go on. They’d realized what horrible mistakes they’d made, and how in not making them they could have been saved from this. 

 

Enjolras knew that this was how they felt, and he was more than okay with it. Even in a time like this, the flicker of doubt and _what if I hadn’t_ s slipped across even his Patria-aligned mind. They would die here, today, for a cause that would eventually have to live. Otherwise, it was for nothing. 

That scared Enjolras most. The namelessness of it all, the possibility that they really were the only ones who cared. 

The possibility that he’d killed his friends for nothing. 

Shots rang out, and the arms around him went limp as his friends, his _brothers_ slipped to the ground, dead. Enjolras’ heart nearly gave out then and there. 

But he couldn’t allow himself the luxury of a death like that. It was tasteless, dishonorable while there was so much honor to be had here. 

Another flicker of doubt and self-hatred murmured through Enjolras. 

_I’ve killed them all, and now their blood is on my hands._

Feet are shuffling, men are struggling their way to the second floor of the Musain, a cafe once beloved and full now barren and empty. 

Enjolras gets as far from the opening as he can, and before he knows it more than a few men are standing there, guns pointed at Enjolras as they stared him down. 

One’s eyes look teary. It’s almost as if he’s _begging_ Enjolras to surrender, to put up his hands and hang his head. But he won’t. 

Before they can pull the trigger, though, a shuffling is heard. 

Enjolras raises his eyes, and the last person he thought he’d see here, now, is standing there with wide eyes and a sober expression, is Grantaire.

Grantaire. 

He stumbles towards him-over Joly, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre’s bodies, all piled on top of each other like they’re sharing some intense secret-and comes to meet Enjolras, in front of all those guns and guards. 

Enjolras realizes, then. 

He’s giving his life. Perhaps not for the cause, but for Enjolras himself. 

Again, his heart wishes to desist in all working. 

He can’t bring himself to speak, so he only reaches down and takes one of Grantaire’s hand with his own. In the other, he lifts the red flag and turns to face the Guard with a last look of fire and rebellion in his eyes.

The shots ring out in his ears. 

The cold light of the morning shines in his eyes. 

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! You can follow me on Tumblr at little-floral, and Kudos + comments are always welcome!


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